Short Story Competition Entry

Some members of the (English) Infinity forums recently held a short story competition to encourage us novice writers to churn out some fluff.  I couldn't resist the challenge (and the forced deadline), so I put my fingers to keys and wrote up this little number.  Check out some of the other entries here.  And without further ado, here is my entry...

-Give Myself Away-

[26.07.14:22:17]

“I've filed my papers. Far in advance, yes. Several months ago, actually. Please, would you just mind checking for me again?...Yes, that's right. Malina. Malina Rubisic. I'm a publishing representative with KaymNet, employee number...Yes, I understand that this is a potentially hostile area. Yes...yes, I understand. No, I've taken every possible precaution. My bosses will not be happy if I go back to them empty-handed. Please understand that this is important. Exposure on this event is vital if people outside the Human Edge are to...Yes, thank you. Thank you, Mr. Ketch I'm docking now. Thank you again. If there's anything I can do...Yes, thank you.”

Malina Rubisic leaned back in her seat and rubbed her eyes. She had been sitting alone in the dimly-lit cockpit for hours, waiting for an opportunity to speak to the elusive Mr. Ketch – blockade administrator extraordinaire - about the situation on Gala IV. Apparently there had been a recent surge of rebel activity in the Refugio area, a small pocket of PanOceanian people surrounded by a larger ring of Yu Jing colonies. The colonies on Gala IV were relatively new, but already Refugio was in danger of being dragged under by corporations working “entirely independent of the nation of Yu Jing.” Or so said the rep from the StateEmpire.

Normally this wouldn't have been a problem. Normally, Malina's superiors wouldn't have cared about some PanOceanian colony being swallowed up by the other great superpower of the Human Sphere. Where they started to take notice, though, was when this semi-hostile takeover developed a potential risk of establishing a precedent in O-12 law. If the defectors in Refugia managed to gain control over the means of production, they could sell said means to external corporate interests, and the external interests would not be held legally culpable for aggressive action against the original controller. That's if O-12 officials came calling, anyway. By the time the ensuing legal clusterfuck had been cleared up, PanOceania's control over Refugia would be so weakened that they would have no choice but to abandon the colony. Never mind that Gala IV was a new planet, rich with resources ripe for the taking.

It was just like the superpowers had tried to do to her home planet a half-dozen years ago. March right in, set up shop, and after some political skullduggery, all the resources would fall under the control of the good civilized people of the inner Human Sphere. Only her planet – Dawn – had something to say about that. Malina smiled, even though her head was swimming from staring at the screen for almost a full day. She remembered the so-called Commercial Conflicts of Ariadna well, and she longed to be out on the field again. Soon, she thought. Soon this would all be over and I can go back to fight again.

[26.07.16:00:05]

“Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice, Mr. Puga.” Malina smiled, shaking the man's hand with as much false warmth and sincerity as she could muster. “I have to apologize for my lateness. There was some confusion with landing permissions and whatnot. They seem to think that establishing a blockade is the best course of action in a situation like this one.”

Mr. Puga smiled, taking his seat again. “Bureaucrats tend to overreact, Ms. Rubisic.” He pronounced the soft “ch” in her surname with a light Spanish accent, and she cringed inwardly. “I assure you that the partisan activity here in Refugia is just that – a few locals who have nursed a problem with authority for so very long that they finally feel compelled to act on the lies they've been fed.”

Malina sat back in her own seat, crossing her legs. She'd carefully selected a dress that would flatter her swimmer's physique. In fact, she'd carefully selected everything, from the small comb in her auburn hair to the dark shoes she wore, all to deviate ever so slightly away from what the file said Mr. Puga liked in a woman. All this from his track record of prostitutes, typically shipped in from off-world. Gala IV was a backwater, after all.

One of these prostitutes had, incidentally, let slip a little fragment of information that tipped Malina's superiors off to Puga's collaboration with Yu Jing interests on Gala IV. Apparently the man liked to talk with his rentals. Malina silently thanked this unsung heroine and wondered where she was right now, at this exact moment, and hoped it was some place pleasant.

“And what lies are those, Mr. Puga?” She smiled, adjusting her small comlog over her wrist and pulling up the digital shorthand keyboard. A reporter's tool, but also a spy's, she thought with some amusement. Cover one with the other. “Surely Dashang and Pou Sheng have very little interest in agitating a few locals in your region...?”

“Dashang is the single biggest exporter of raw lumber in the Human Edge.” Puga leaned forward, his dark eyes trained somewhere not quite on Malina's face, but close enough to lie if she brought it to his attention. “Refugia happens to be situated on the largest concentration of natural forest on the planet. There's no need to terraform, or to gamble with corporate investments on a crop of off-planet trees that may or may not perform under Gala's conditions. Dashang stands to gain much from fomenting rebellion.”

Malina's fingers danced over the faintly glowing holographic keys. “And Pou Sheng?”

“Pou Sheng is a thinly-veiled disguise worn by agents of the Yu Jing State.” Mr. Puga waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever trinkets their leadership might want pale in comparison to the idea that the StateEmpire could have the whole of Gala IV for themselves. And don't think, Ms. Rubisic, that they wouldn't try. That's what this rebellion is all about.”

“Aha.” Malina smiled, shifting in her seat. It was a subtle movement, not obvious like the crossing or re-crossing of legs, but it was enough to refocus Puga's attention. Distract, confirm data, eliminate target. Just like last time. Just like every time.

“Is that enough for MayaNet?” The man offered her a smile that he must have thought was charming. “We truly want the rest of the Sphere to see what is going on here on Gala IV, in the hopes that they will offer their support with this small crisis. You understand that we would rather your producers focus on the attempt at takeover rather than on some easily-controlled rebellion. Political subversion is the issue here.”

“Oh, I totally agree.” Malina smiled, gliding with ease through her comlog's holographic interface. “I'm sure that'll be enough. After all, KaymNet has a vested interest in protecting the freedom of people in the Human Edge.” She paused. “You won't mind if I share a little secret with you, will you?”

Mr. Puga smiled. Comfortable surroundings and a beautiful woman was all it took to set him at ease, apparently. Malina was pleased, knowing that he wouldn't survive in a real political atmosphere, one far away from a “backwater” like this one. It made all of this easier.

“I wouldn't mind at all, my dear.”

“KaymNet,” Malina leaned forward, “is actually operated out of one of the many little ships orbiting a Nomad Nations mothership.”

“No! You're putting me on, Ms. Rubisic.” Puga feigned indignation, which suited him about as well as the overpriced comlog on his forearm: he wasn't wearing it, but rather it just sat on him, and he expected it to look good.

“Oh, I'm not, not at all.” Malina smiled, rubbing one bare leg over the other for a fraction of a second. Distract. “That's not to say that my immediate superiors are in some way involved with the higher-ups . Only that our funding and direction comes from a little pebble in the sky that would prefer to remain...inconspicuous.”

“But they're hardly inconspicuous anymore. Now that I know about them, that is.” Puga smiled like a predator who had just caught his prey.

“They support freedom. Freedom for places like Refugia. Freedom,” Malina looked Mr. Puga squarely in the eyes, “From hostile corporate interests and economic takeovers. I didn't tell you what I told you to give away my personal political biases. I told you so that you can be comfortable in the fact that my company's primary interest is something more than money. They want truth, Mr. Puga, and they want the truth to be heard.”

“Wonderful.” He nodded. “Wonderful. Exactly what I wanted to hear. Refugia is grateful for their support.” Then he paused, and in that long pause, Malina caught him looking at her legs. She made no movement; to do so would seem unnatural at this point, and she already had his attention.

“And what, may I ask, are your personal political biases?” He asked, but the expression on his face made it obvious that he was interested in something more physical than abstract political belief.

“I make it a habit not to discuss my personal views while I'm working.” The corner of Malina's lips raised in a slight smile.

“Then why not after work? Perhaps over some wild boar from Aconticimento, served with wine from NeoTerra's finest vineyards?” Puga was making his move, and it was a move Malina had seen countless times before. She had to work to seem surprised.

“Oh.” Her eyelashes fluttered. “You don't need to do that, Mr. Puga. My network is already squarely on your side regarding this...”

“And I appreciate that, Ms. Rubisic. But right now, I'm not looking to impress your network. I'm asking you to dinner.”

“In that case, I accept.” She smiled. “And please, call me Malina.”

You've been butchering Rubisic for long enough.

[26.07.11:52:24]

Malina lay halfway under synthetic silk bedsheets, her legs entangled in Mr. Puga's. They were both covered in a warm sweat, and strands of Malina's hair stuck her her forehead.

“That was...exhilirating.” She smiled at the man, who had propped himself up on one arm, wearing the grin of a boy who'd just gotten exactly what he wanted for his birthday.

“I'd say the same for you, Malina. You are...that is to say, that was beyond my wildest expectations. Are you sure you've never been to Bourak?”

“Flattery won't get you anywhere it hasn't already, Luis.” She smirked. “You'll have to try something new for that.”

“Mind if I ask you a question?” Puga said, suddenly. Malina nodded, her hair falling back over the pillow. “Why did you tell me about your employers-from-on-high? Why risk any sort of association with people who'd be happy to let this whole situation erupt in flames?”

“I didn't.” She replied simply. “You're a smart man, Luis. You know what the Nomad Nations represent.”

“Chaos, anarchy. Complete and utter disorder.”

“Not quite, but that's the way it's typically spun.” She moved her hips subtly against his. Distract. “There are aspects of their society that value those things, sure, but as I told you, what the Nomad Nations are generally about is freedom. Their freedom. Do you think they care if some backwater settlement of PanOceanian decadents is wiped from the map? They can take the story I bring them and spin it whatever way they want. One day they might lean towards “StateEmpire Tyranny Revealed!” and the next, “PanOceanian Hegemony Knocked Down!” In all honesty, Luis...if I were you, I'd get the hell out of here. Find yourself a lovely lady, get out of the Human Edge altogether. Leave Refugia's problems behind.”

“What if I've already found a lovely lady?” He grinned at her.

She forced a blush. “I'm a publishing rep, Luis. I've got to be on the move as early as tomorrow. Besides, what if this whole Refugia situation doesn't work out? What if you can't make it out of the system? I have to hedge my bets, Luis. As much as I don't want to at the moment.” She made a show of pressing herself to him, which got an immediate response.

“What if I told you that I've already got Refugia figured out?”

She raised her eyebrows in the most convincing “tell me more” manner she knew. Confirm data.

“Oh yes.” Luis lowered his voice to a whisper, even though it was only the two of them in his spacious bedroom. “I've already found the way out. The one you mentioned. Only I – we - don't have to leave the Human Edge. But none of this can go any further than the four posts of this bed, Malina. Do I have your word on that? This is strictly off-the-record.”

“Of course, Luis, of course. I told you that I would only have dinner with you off the clock, and I think it's safe to consider this an extension of that timeframe.” She grinned, making the point with another gesture of intimate contact.

“Alright. Dashang, Pou Sheng...both completely ignorant. Traders with a good eye for profit and little else.” Puga returned the grin. He was a cat in his cream, and about to drown in it. The smile that came to Malina's face was genuine now. “Oh yes. Cast enough attention on them, and the people will be so busy chasing phantoms that Shenzhen will move in.”

“The investment bank?” Malina asked, curiousity lacing every syllable.

“They're the key to this whole business, and I was smart enough to get in on the ground floor. One of many investments made when people were just starting to think about landing on this rock, you see. There's no such thing as national pride anymore, Malina. Corporate alliances have replaced what we used to think of as cultural and state citizenship. Just look around my room. I have treasures from all parts of the Sphere, all walks of life, all cultures and nationalities. And I appropriate them all as my own. I become a citizen of the many-faceted country that lies in my heart, and that country chooses to align itself with Shenzhen. You might say it holds the keys to my heart, if you were feeling poetic.” He smiled at her, stroking her thigh. “But only after you. You have the biggest key of all, Malina.”

“Mmm.” She paused. “Your idea sounds like imperialism.”

“An outdated concept.” Puga shrugged. “In a universe without true countries, how can there be imperialism? We make our own destinies, now. They are not decided for us by what used to be our tribes, people with whom we sheltered for warmth and comfort when everything else was hostile.”

“You would truly be surprised.” Malina said, distantly. “I think you would.”

Eliminate target.

And Luis Puga had no chance to answer her, for he was already dead. The injection site was invisible, of course, but Malina still had work to do. She rose from the bed, tossing aside the covers, and went for her purse.

[27.07.01:21:01]

On the books, Malina Rubisic was half a planet away, talking to some minor bureaucrat about the situation in Refugia. In reality, she paced a remote landing site just outside Refugia's official borders, waiting for a ship that was designed to be entirely undetectable.

“You got all that, I hope.”

“Happy Jack respectfully turned down the volume at the appropriate time.” Came the voice in her ear, through a remote receiver routed through her comlog.

“Not what I was asking, Jack.” She scanned the sky. Nothing. She quickly pondered the futility of looking for an invisible craft and looked back down, double-checking her equipment. “Do you have enough to justify this to HQ?”

“Of course, of course. But what do you need to worry about? We don't exist. We never have. Even if HQ was not pleased, Happy Jack hazards a guess that Luis Puga deserved what was coming to him.”

“He got too much.” Malina chewed her lip, and felt a sharp wind kick up. Her hair buffeted her face, and she pressed herself back against one of the rocky outcroppings to give the Feather-Light a clear landing zone. The air rippled, and a sleek grey ship touched down on the dirt. It was big enough to house three or four people on a long-term basis, big enough to be a home.

“On board please, miss.” Came another voice in her ear. “The longer we wait, the longer the blockade will have to register the Feather-Light.”

“Of course, Nasim. On my way.”

Malina climbed the short gangway up into the belly of the sleek grey ship, and all of it disappeared from sight, leaving Gala IV to its own devices.

[27.07.01:26:35]

Nasim greeted Malina with a warm smile and a cold drink. He was a short, well-groomed man from Bourak, and the ship's surgeon. For the last reason alone, Malina had a very hard time liking him.

“I trust everything went well, miss?”

“Well enough.”

“Wonderful. We've been assigned another mission...perhaps you'd like to begin preparations? The medical bay is ready, and I believe Jack has the mission parametres ready for us to download.”

“Give me ten minutes, will you, Nasim?” Malina rubbed the bridge of her nose with two fingers, and the short Haqqislamite nodded.

“Of course. Please come see me when you are ready.”

Malina turned to walk the other way, moving down the Feather-Light's narrow corridors to her cabin. This ship had been designed and built by Krause-Bauer Industries in response to a tri-lateral commission developed by nations that felt themselves at risk of superpower attack. Haqqislam had contributed the astoundingly skilled doctor Nasim Shalhoub, a surgeon of great renown thought lost in a mid-space collision over ten years ago. The Nomads had contributed the Feather-Light herself, along with Happy Jack, her pilot and resident AI. Ariadna, the third and final nation of this pact, contributed Malina, combat and infiltration specialist, veteran of a dozen or more invisible operations.

Only they hadn't contributed Malina, had they.

The woman slid into her room, pausing for a moment to set down the cup Nasim had given her. She thought about taking a shower to wash herself off - to wash the mission off – but there would be time for a clean slate later. In fact, it was inevitable.

She sat down at her small desk and shuffled some things around. This was procrastination, of course, and when she realized it, she reached into the drawer for her comlog's recorder extension. She only had ten minutes or so, after all. Mere moments later, she had a picture of herself, her smile forced and her hair in disarray. She considered it for a moment and transferred it to the screen that back-lit her workspace. <Malina Rubisic.> She added a caption and slid the image into place.

The picture took its place in a web of women. All of them bore captions indicating their names, and all of them had that same forced, tired smile. They lacked datestamps, but the woman liked to feel that they didn't need them. They were all real people, all with their own lives and hates and loves. Malina, for instance, liked Coca-Cola, an almost-extinct beverage only available on parts of Dawn. Shana had liked goat cheese on absolutely everything. Bay had liked solitude and forest trails.

“Miss, I don't mean to rush you, but ten minutes has past. Headquarters has us on a schedule.” Nasim's voice was audible over the ship's intercom. The woman shut down the screen, closing the web of women that stared at her every day.

“Until next time.” She said, and she left her room for the medical bay, leaving the lukewarm cup of Coca-Cola behind.